


School Day Bloody School Day

by triwizard_tardis



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: M/M, Misgendering, Sort of rapey behavior, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Nagisa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triwizard_tardis/pseuds/triwizard_tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nagisa finds himself in a truely unfavorable situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TWs: blood; minor act of self harm; slight dysphoria
> 
> Thoughts and memories are in italics
> 
> Matsui Yuusei, and to whomever he sold the rights, owns Assassination Classroom

Nagisa shrugged roughly out of his modified gym clothes. _Stupid. Careless! Mortifying!_ He threw the jacket to the ground and began to peel off the skin tight shirt.

Korosensei had said that there were members of our class still in need of some practice in leadership, namely Itona, seeing as he was the new kid, and Okuda, because she was somehow still scared of her own shadow. The whole set up should have been so simple! How had he messed up Capture the Flag!?

One arm already forcefully extracted from a sweaty sleeve, Nagisa ripped the shirt the remainder of the way over his head and off his body. He stared accusingly at his drift wood flat chest.

"This is all your fault," he muttered. He poked at a lightly toned pectoral. It still looked just the slightest bit too flabby for his liking. To him, any fat in that area was too much. He poked it again, harder. Then pressed into it until his finger bent at the pressure and a short nail bit into the skin. He bit his tongue but kept pressing, dragging his nail across his chest hard enough to draw a thin line of blood to the surface. Blood.

He felt his rage begin to bubble at the sight of it. Because, really he knew the flab on his chest was just imagination, he knew he was lucky enough to go topless at the beach without anyone batting an eye; his chest wasn't really to blame for this mess. No. The culprit was lower, and he cursed the anti-sensei knife at his feet because with real steel he could carve the damn thing from his body and just be done with it. He howled in frustration, then flopped down on the bench in the equipment shed.

_So. Damn. Close!_ he thought, tearing at the laces of his boots to accentuate each word. He already had the upper hand being chosen for Itona's team! Sure the white haired ex-weapon was new, and pretty used to being a puppet instead of the puppeteer, but at least he had a blunt attitude and more field experience than anyone else in E Class. Okuda still stuttered when asking Korosensei for help with a Chem problem!

Okay, Karma might have been the one stationed to guard Okuda's team flag, but she positioned him alone, and even those gold glowing eyes couldn't see in all directions at once! Nagisa had been right behind him, camo paint covering every inch of his uniform, poised to strike in mid air, when a sharp, heavy pain struck his lower abdomen, forcing from him a shocked shout that gave away his position.

He ripped his boots off violently and chuck each one at the rickety door, standing up again and shimmying out of his cargo pants. To add insult to injury, he'd have to stay way late today if he wanted in any way to clean the stain from his pants before anymore students saw.

_"Wow, Nagisa, I guess this really is a day to improve on weak skills," Karma taunted haughtily, turning to watch the bluenet writhing in pain on the ground before him. "Though, it really would have been more effective to stick to your original plan to ambush me."_

_Nagisa hissed and rolled over numbly, planting his face into the dirt in an attempt to move to a sitting position while still clutching his stomach with white knuckles. Just as he got to his knees a fresh pang of pain sent him flailing on his back. He groaned and rolled back onto his side, never letting go of the death grip on his own stomach._

_To Karma, it looked like an exorcism. He moved tentatively closer. "You're not fooling me, Shiota. I'm not coming near you with a knife at your side." But something about all Nagisa's whimpering and groaning was really beginning to concern the red head. He took another step forward, and another. Nagisa had his back turned to Karma, huddled in the fetal position, sounding as though he was losing a battle with his tears._

_That was when Karma saw it. A red-tinged black spot about the size of a tennis ball staining the back of Nagisa's pants._

_"Nagisa...Are you bleeding?"_

_Nagisa cringed at the question. He bit his lip so hard he thought it might have started bleeding, and stumbled into a crutch-like excuse for a standing position. As he rose slowly, he snatched up his knife. Then he spun quickly to face Karma, using what little strength he had to both brace the knife threateningly in front of him and not scream again. It would only be a matter of time before Mr. Karasuma and the rest of E Class would converge on their point._

_The bluenet dragged a deep breath through his nose to steady himself before he threatened Karma._

_"Don't follow me," he warned, and stumbled cautiously into the brush behind him before making his escape. Karma thought he genuinely looked like a wounded animal._

"What brings you back early, Nagisa m'boy?"

Nagisa nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Korosensei's voice. Then he actually jumped behind the ball bin to hind himself from his teacher's possibly prying eyes.

"Don't worry, Nagisa. I'm not looking. When I saw you heading back from the mountain towards the shed, I thought you might be looking for some privacy."

When the bluenet finally spotted the octopus in the shadows of the shed, he could make out closed lines where beady white dots would usually sit.

"Then why'd you follow me in here!?" the boy yelled in exasperation.

"It wasn't immediate!" his teacher defended, "Besides, you are skipping class, and I know you wouldn't do that without a real reason. I take it you came back to clean the blood out of your pants?"

Nagisa stiffened behind the ball bin.

"If your eyes are closed, how did you know I had blood in my pants," he accused, childishly attempting to change the subject. He could almost feel the octopus's smarmy grin, his lemon yellow globe of a head striping lime green.

"I do have the nose of a blood hound, you know."

Nagisa checked to make sure that matter-of-fact tentacle of his was pointedly floating in the air. It was, but the stripes in his face were no where to be found. The bluenet's face scrunched in confusion before the octopus continued.

"And _period_ blood smells distinctly different from regular blood."

Nagisa cringed a second time.

"I'm guessing you didn't have the foresight to grab your regular uniform from the locker room. Am I correct?"

Nagisa nodded before remembering that the octopus still courteously had his eyes closed.

"Uh... No, sir. I didn't."

"Then I'll be right back." A resounding bang shook the old shed. Then, Nagisa felt the familiar material of his school uniform drop onto his head. "I also took the liberty of getting you these," Korosensei explained as Nagisa felt two card stock boxes fall into his lap. "I wasn't sure what your preference might be, so I took the liberty of getting you a box of each. Regardless, I would advise you to talk to Ms. Irina about the application of either, once you've changed."

"Thanks," Nagisa whispered, voice shrunken by fear, disgust, and an uncanny sense of awe that never left Korosensei's side. He began slipping into his pants as the octopus spoke again.

"There's an important lesson I want you to remember from this experience, Nagisa," as if on cue, once Nagisa's pants were fastened, a squishy yellow tentacle fell onto his shoulder. "You are no less a man than any other in this class."

Nagisa followed the two fingered hand up its noodley arm to meet the pressing expression in his teacher's eyes. Not for the first time since Korosensei arrived to E Class, Nagisa felt a shocking sense of pride overtake him. His lips quirked at one side before he felt a full blown grin split his features.

"Of course not, sir," Nagisa beamed, and he could sense the satisfaction in Korosensei's own perpetual smile.

"Good. Now put on a shirt so you can go talk to Ms. Irina. Then we'll properly address that scratch on your chest."

Nagisa felt himself deflate in shame and embarrassment, but did as he was told, then followed Korosensei back to the classroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagisa loses himself. Karma doesn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of misgendering! Also IM NOT KIDDING WHEN I SAY THAT KARMA GETS A KIND OF RAPEY!!!! IF ALMOST RAPE IS TRIGGERING TO YOU, YOU HAVE BEEN DUELY WARNED!!!

"Nagi?" Hiromi Shiota's voice promised affection, "You're new at this. I won't be mad; just open the door and let me help you."

His chest cracked like an eggshell, and he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't want to open the door. The day had been the best and worst of his recent life so far. Maybe it was pity for his morbid state, maybe it was pride that her "little girl" was "finally growing up" but from the moment he'd woken up, writhing and groaning in pain, she'd been spellbindingly nice to him.

She was still being herself -- calling him her daughter, forcing her plans on him -- but she was acting like a real mother. Her usual overbearing attitude was funneled into teaching him how to take care of himself. For once she was looking at him as her child, not her favorite doll.

Nagisa looked disparagingly at his thighs, caked in stale crimson. His fingers looked no better, the sticky substance clogged into his cuticles and under his nails. It dripped into the toilet bowl, staining the water. It crusted the soaked material of his underwear and the blessed baggy jeans he'd actually been allowed to wear that day. Even sitting down, the sight of so much blood made him dizzy. _Some assassin he'd turn out to be._

"I got you a change of clothes," his mother's words sounded like a gentle bribe, and he heard her rustle the bag for emphasis. "Did you manage to change your tampon?"

He looked at the broken seal of the card stock box on the bathroom floor. It looked like a violet heart, fighting to pump blood around a body in which it no longer rested. The plastic wrappers of the little cotton sticks spurted from the seal like a sliced artery. It mocked him, as the soiled cotton stick he's applied that morning floated in the bowl beneath him, helping the dripping excess from his body to dye the water in which it soaked.

The wrapper and plunger of the tampon he'd used to replace the taunting piece in the toilet, dripped out of the flap of the menstrual waste bin on the tin wall of the stall. He couldn't tell what, but Nagisa had murdered something. And he could avoid the feeling that his mother would be all too delighted to witness the crime scene.

"Yeah," he answered softly, reluctantly, a hint of hysteria coloring his tone. Hiromi's reply was soothing.

"Good," she praised gently. "I have some wet paper towels; please let me in."

Well, the crime scene wouldn't clean itself, so he didn't have much choice. With numb trembling fingers, tear-stung eyes still trained to the tell-tale box, he slid loose the plastic lock on the door.

He refused to notice her as she slipped into the stall.

"Oh, Nagisa," she observed with a pity stained tone, "here." She bent on her knees and grabbed his hand, wiping it thoroughly with a wet paper towel. When she was finished, she gently grasped his chin and made him face her. The caring pain in her eyes was like a thumb pressing on the crack in the eggshell. He broke.

"I-I broke something," he choked, forgetting how to hold back tears. The concern on Hiromi's face only grew.

"What, what did you break, baby," she cooed, lovingly. Placing another wet paper towel on his leg, she started checking everything. The lid was still attached to the waste bin, the toilet paper dispenser still worked, she even reached over his shoulder and flushed the toilet below him. "What did you break," she reiterated, patiently.

"I-I killed something; it's not...worki--it's not... I don't know," he sobbed. His swimming eyes fell on the mocking purple tampon box, and she followed his gaze, laughing with relief when she found the accused subject of his torment.

"That's okay," the promised, lifting the box to examine the broken seal, "like I said earlier: they'll still let us buy it."

She sighed when his expression didn't change, placing the offending container to the side and picking up the paper towel again.

"Wipe your legs so you can change," she instructed. He reigned in his sobbing and took the towel from his mother, wiping deftly at his legs until the blood that covered everything became more and more of a memory. His mother handed him the bag, and told him the step out of his pants before getting off the floor in front of him and leaving him to change in the stall. "Lock the door behind me."

He did, then removed the change of clothes she'd purchased for him from their plastic confines. His stomach churned with vile anger as he stared at the garment in his hands.

It was a salmon pink color, nothing too bubble-gum abusive, with a camouflage trim to match the tank top she'd allowed him to wear that morning. It's short, yet modest cut was nothing new for the blue haired teen. But from some reason, Nagisa hated this skirt more than any other in which his mother had ever dressed him. This slightly frilly skirt felt like the wicked knife, driven into the nervous system of a corpse, just so the psycho path that stole the life could watch its host body twitch one last time.

Nagisa hadn't killed anything; he'd only witnessed the murder. The skirt felt like receiving the murder weapon as hush money. The stench of death rested heavily in the air around him.

"Come on out, so we can pay for everything and head home," Hiromi suggested from some faraway place in Nagisa's field of consciousness. Home. That was the best idea the bluenet heard all day.

When he emerged from the stall, he noticed the cleansing water in his jeans and old underwear. His mother must have noticed as he stared at the clothes bundled in her hands.

"I wasn't just going to let perfectly good clothes go to waste," she chastised, and Nagisa felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. "You look so nice," she went on to compliment, and that relief felt felt crippled.

He followed her from the bathroom and kept his head down as they weaved toward the checkout line, and finally out of the store.

He never liked dressing like a girl for his mother, but normally he could endure it. That day though, it felt like every eye in the shopping center was trained to him. Maybe the skirt was shorter than he thought, maybe his face was still splotchy from his earlier melt down. Whatever the reason, every extra set of eyes made him dizzier, sicker, and smaller. The stares made his ears buzz, and he tried not to faint, until a familiar, mischievous voice cut through the static and froze his blood and his pace.

"Nagisa-chan!" It called, lilting and playing with the honorific. Like a lifted blindfold, the bluenet could suddenly see the corpse from the store. The one with the tampon box heart, stabbed into vile twitching by the skirt that was choking Nagisa's legs.

Before her, Nagisa saw any last trace of masculinity fall cold and dead. Who had she been kidding? Who had Korosensei been kidding? Her period was an ever-growing stain on the sidewalk, soaking from any possible hope that she could ever be a boy.

Hiromi turned at the sound of a boy calling her daughter's name. He was a fairly average height for a boy his age, with flaming read hair and burning golden eyes. As he cantered over to the women at the edge of the shopping center, he smiled jovially, tapping the bluenette on the shoulder when he reached her.

"Nagisa," he repeated again, dropping the honorific. The girl felt her mother's eyes drilling into her skull as her face became increasingly annoyed.

"Nagisa, you're being very rude," she scolded, "you should greet your friend, then introduce us."

"Right," she chimed apologetically, ignoring the bile rising in her throat. Her voice rang in a disgustingly befitting, higher pitch. She turned with a sheepish smile tugged on over her breaking heart. "H-hi Karma-kun," she greeted politely, "this is my mother. Mom, Karma-kun is in my class."

Hiromi's polite smile seemed to falter. If he was in Nagisa's class then he wasn't likely to be smart, and Hiromi didn't want her daughter to befriend people that might influence her intelligence, trapping her in that wretched rejects' class. But Nagisa wasn't good at making friends, and her mom knew how important companionship was to a girl in puberty.

"Nice to meet you, Karma-kun," she greeted, then she returned her attention to her daughter, "I'll let you catch up. Be home before five o'clock so you don't miss dinner," she warned before leaving the bluenette with her friend.

Nagisa studied her plain black slip-on tennis shoes.

"Wow," she heard Karma taunt, "you really are a chick."

Suddenly, Karma seemed like the murderer. Without looking, she could sense the ever-present reckless abandon in his ember eyes. She could feel wild static dance from his skin to hers as he removed a hair tie from he blue locks and began to twirl a strand in his finger. She didn't want to admit she was scared.

"This is so weird," he claimed in amazement, long fingers moving from her hair to her cheek. He stroked it with skin-crawling intimacy. "I mean it suits you," he explained, "but you're acting so shy!" He sounded genuinely surprised. "Your hair in those pigtails looks so different now. Your face and your frame look so fragile." He tilted her chin up so painstakingly gently, so her sky blue eyes met his. They were doused in tears she hadn't noticed building and spilling down her cheeks.

"You look so helpless, right now," he taunted, wiping away a new tear. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I feel like I could take you right now, without a fight."

She shivered, bolting up. She felt powerless and broken. Stripped once of her identity, she could feel like redhead before her itching to strip her of her clothes as well. He grabbed her wrist tightly and dragged her into the superstore where her anatomy had begun to murder her earlier. She vaguely processed being pulled to the self care aisle, and tossed in front of the tampons.

"Which one," he demanded with the same faraway tone her mother held in the bathroom not an hour earlier. The purple box, branded with the word "Ultra" in violet cursive letters, screamed at her until she grabbed it with a choking grip to shut it up. She didn't process that Karma had released her wrist until his vice-like hold returned. The film of vagueness clouded her consciousness again as he paid for the box and dragged her toward his home.

A conversation of explanatory greeting occurred as Karma's heavy front door thudded behind the pair. Karma shoved her up the stair, down the hallway, and into a room with pale blue walls and a bed dressed in black. The redhead threw the bluenette on the bed, and grabbed her jaw roughly. She could read the disdain he held as he met her dead eyes.

"This is all wrong," his lilting voice seemed to analyze. A concerned frown sitting out of place on his features. He shoved her so she lay on his bed. "Fight back, Nagisa," he demanded, maniacally, "for all you know, I brought you here to rape you!"

She couldn't ever flinch anymore. For all she cared, he could rape her. She felt violated from the moment she say her identity's cadaver. He'd be a rapist, and a necrophiliac! He could ravish every inch of her; it wouldn't matter! He wouldn't even be a necrophiliac! He'd be an agalmatophiliac! Nagisa Shiota, son of Hiromi Shiota, died that morning. Nagisa Shiota, hollow shell of a daughter of Hiromi Shiota, lying limp on Karma Akabane's bed, didn't exist!

She felt the box of tampons hit her flat chest. An old tear pricked her eye as a memory of thankfulness danced across her mind. Thank god she had a flat chest. Next, she felt cloth pile on top of her.

"This sulking mess is unsettling," Karma sneered, "come downstairs once you've changed."

He left the room, closing his door behind him. It took a long moment for Nagisa to move.

When she did, she sat up and analyzed the pile of clothing in her lap. A plain, maroon t-shirt, made of crisp cotton and polyester heaped at awkward angles over a pair of jeans that weren't going to fit. The jangling of a belt buckle told Nagisa that Karma had thought of an answer for that too. Once changed, the blue haired teenager limped down the stairs and into the kitchen. A black hair tie struck the teens chest.

"Your hair's a mess half down like that," Karma informed, so Nagisa mechanically retied the blue locks.

"You must be the man of the hour," a red-haired woman identified from the stove. Her voice sounded like the taste of cherries and felt like CPR. Nagisa met her eyes: a copper color, bright, but not as abrasive as her son's. A strange and strangled look creased Nagisa's face. She smiled gently: a nurse with a repair kit awaiting the defibrillator's shock, so she can stitch up her patient and send them on their way. Then came the electric paddles, in the form of the sultry voice of a manic teenager having too much fun with his life.

"I was just explaining to my mom why I dragged my boyfriend into her house and threw him in my room," he summarized nonchalantly, popping a blueberry lazily in his mouth.

Life illuminated Nagisa's eyes as they grew with invigorating shock.

"B-b-b-boyfriend!?" The stuttering word sprang from Nagisa's lips, flushing as pink and embarrassed as the tips of his ears. As warm and red as his mortified cheeks. Blessedly low and befitting. Suddenly, the embossed nylon tiles in the Akabane kitchen were the most interesting discovery of the twenty-first century.

"Karma!" Mrs. Akabane scolded, "Don't lie and make this boy uncomfortable! He seems like he's been through quite a day!"

Nagisa heard the wooden legs of Karma's chair bumble a low baritone note as he scraped them across the nylon. His socked feet clicked like a cotton stuffed clock, as he sauntered over to the bluenet.

"What," he complained playfully, coming behind the smaller boy, fixing the sleeve of his t-shirt, and rapping his arms around the bluenet's midsection. "I think we'd look cute together," he teased, resting his chin on Nagisa's shoulder, "Plus: I dressed him in my clothing. Isn't that what boyfriends do? Dress their significant others in their clothing?"

Nagisa's face was so hot, he felt faint.

"Don't let him get to you," Mrs. Akabane stressed as she padded over to smack her son with a dish towel. Playfully protecting himself, he fled back to the kitchen table. "At any rate," his mother continued, "it's good to meet one of Karma's friends."

A lightness sculpted in relief inflated Nagisa's chest.

"It's good to meet you too, Mrs. Akabane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whatever! Fine I guess it's not such a stretch for Nagisa to get his period at fourteen! I give up! I'll remove the freaking tags!

**Author's Note:**

> Is is clear yet that I watch the English dub?
> 
> Also: I spelled it bluenet instead of bluenette for a reason! This is really cool! Okay so, brunette is also spelled brunet, and blonde is also blond, because each word has a more masculine or feminine meaning. Brunette, from where we idiot writer nerds created the word bluenette, uses the feminine ending. So as cement to Nagisa's masculinity, I spelled the word with the masculine ending.
> 
> Oh! Last thing. I know the tags say this is a KarmAgisa fic and it will be I promise. I'll write one more chapter in which a relationship will develop (because you know Karma has to respond to this). But this just came to a natural conclusion before I got there. Actually, no promises the relationship will be next chapter. But it will happen. That much of which I swear.


End file.
